


The Glass Box

by thegrendel



Category: Nofandom, Original Work
Genre: F/M, Millions of viewers, Older Woman/Younger Man, Public Sex, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 00:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrendel/pseuds/thegrendel
Summary: The ultimate reality TV show: naked sex in front of millions of viewers.





	The Glass Box

Greg shivered as he stared at the wall. Even with the temperature steady  
at 84, blood heat, he was cold. Maybe it was the tension. Or knowing that  
he was being watched.

At his side, Marilyn breathed softly. She was stunning. Tall and blonde  
and soft and round in all the right places. Every teenage boy's fantasy  
lover. And she was _his_ , his for the taking. If only he had the  
nerve to take her.

It was tough being a virgin at 18. Not knowing the moves or what exactly  
to do with a woman, even when she was naked and all spread out and ready  
and willing. But then, that was why he had been picked for this deal.  
Because all those folks out there were curious to see what would happen.
    
    
        Welcome to the ultimate in Reality TV: THE GLASS BOX
    
        Yes, folks, every week we bring you new players and new situations.
        In today's show we have an eager, but shy adolescent male, barely of
        legal age, and an experienced older women. Let's call it: Beauty
        and the Geek. And both of them stark naked in the Glass Box for
        your viewing pleasure!
    

The Box wasn't really glass. Not that it mattered. Think of a  
15-by-15-foot plush mattress, bounded by ten-foot high plexiview walls  
and roofed over by a mirror ceiling. In one corner an open Porta-shitter  
with absolutely no provision for privacy. It was sort of an illuminated  
transparent plastic jail cell suspended in mid-air. And, with dozens  
of high-resolution videocams and mikes strategically positioned at  
various angles -- above, sideways, and below. Seeing all. Hearing all.  
Recording all. _All!_ Every kiss. Every whisper. Every touch,  
every fondle . . . And, transmitting it, _all of it_ , live. It  
was like being a bug under a microscope.

A million fucking dollars he was supposed to get for this gig. Even if  
he didn't manage to boff the broad, he'd still come out of it rich. And,  
a celeb to boot. But, think of the hit to his reputation if he couldn't  
get it on. And, so far, four hours into show, he hadn't been able to.  
Couldn't get revved up. Couldn't get it up!

Every move you make going out at light-speed on international TV.  
Think of it! Every time you let slip a fart millions laugh, and they're  
laughing at _you_. Every time you use the can, millions are getting  
their rocks off peeping at you, watching you peeing and pooping, and  
wiping your damn ass! All those people watching! How he hated them! Those  
stupid, gaping, masturbating morons getting their jollies watching him! He  
looked down at his limp noodle and slammed his fist into the padded floor.
    
    
       I had a hunch the guy'd turn out to be a schmuck. A dipshit.
       A gold-plated asshole.
    
       -- Shut up, Larry. The review panel agreed he was perfect.
    
       Perfect, right. He was so eminently qualified. He's an erotic story
       site groupie on the Net. That alone had to have made him a super
       sexpert. Not to mention that he blew away the surrogates in the
       test screening.  Fucked them a mile a minute.
    
       -- Those were inflatable vinyl dummies. Not the real thing.
    
       So, what do we do now? Two hours left in the broadcast, and no action
       to speak of. The ratings on this episode are in the toilet, and no
       wonder. It's a total fucking disaster.
    
       -- Calm down. That's why there's Plan B. Ready to switch over the
          video feed?
    
       To the other Box? The one with the lookalikes? The pros?
    
       -- Sure. With the seamless transition electronics, the viewing
          public will never know the difference. But, they'll get the hot
          and heavy stuff they're expecting. The Greg substitute can go all
          night if he has to.  Unlike the fucking original.
    

"All right, chump, up and out!"

"What???" Greg jumped to his feet, startled. The far wall of the Glass  
Box had dropped out of sight and three burly techs were standing there  
staring at him.

"Show's over, friend. Now, be a jolly good fellow and trundle on down  
to the dressing room to get cleaned up."

Marilyn languidly sat up, studiously ignoring the smirking studio stooges.  
In no great hurry she got to her feet and walked out, her swaying naked  
behind riveting the eyes of the men following. Greg had a raging erection  
(too late!), and no damn place to stick it.

***

"What???"

"You really should have read the contract, Greggy baby. That's right,  
the non-performance clause. If you _don't_ fuck, you _get_  
fucked. So, instead of the million, you get bupkis, though with generous  
travel expenses thrown in. It comes to a grand total of $573.48. Don't  
spend it all in one place, buddy boy."

 

Humiliated! Cheated! With his reputation in tatters and teetering on the  
ragged edge of poverty. Things were not looking good in Greg's little  
corner of the world.

"Hey! Greg! You lookin damfine! Gimme the highest five you got!"

Shit! He just had to run into Jimmy from the neighborhood. What was he  
going to say? That he was sorry he'd let everybody down? That he wasn't  
usually that bad in the sack? That it was an impersonator up there on the  
TV screen, an actor with a face like his doing a friggin comedy routine?

"Greg, you the man! You tore that bitch up. Musta set her hole on fire.  
Sure, not much action the first coupla hours, but I betcha you was just  
warmin up, huh?"

"Yeah, Jimbo, you got it. Warming up. Say, you ain't puttin me on now,  
are you? Y'know, maybe I wasn't at my bestest up there in the Box, but  
with all them cameras all around and knowin everybody's watching, it's  
kinda rough . . ."

"You joking, right? Greg, you musta boffed the broad at least half a  
dozen times, up, down, and sideways. Sheeit! Where'd you learn about  
that there double-strokin shit, and doing her from behind and all the  
while fingerin the clit? And you a certified virgin before that? Sheeit!"

"Well, sure, Jimmy, y'know all those books they made us read in Sex Ed  
class at Coolidge High, and . . ."

"Yeah, r-i-i-ght . . ."

What??? Jimmy wasn't pulling his leg, it didn't sound like. Something very  
strange was going on here.

Oh, my. Well, that sort of explained it. He was sitting in an easy chair  
in Jimmy's living room, holding a cold brew and watching a replay of  
the show. He saw himself (no, _not_ himself!) boffing the broad  
half a dozen times. Up, down, and sideways. So, they must have had a  
backup crew of lookalike actors ready to take over in a remote studio,  
in _a different_ Glass Box, just in case. Just in case they had  
a player who flamed out. Like he did.

Cheated again! Megaversal Studios had made out on the deal, made millions  
using his name and his face, while he got . . . what? A crummy five  
hundred little ones. He had gotten fucked.

Well, at least his rep was intact. For all the rest of the world knew,  
he was a world-class lover, a bigtime bimbo bopper, a boffo boudoir  
bonzo, a supersmooth sheik between the sheets. So, maybe he'd salvaged  
_something_ from this fucking fiasco. And, maybe more than  
something . . .

Hey, if the studio could pull a scam, why shouldn't he benefit from it?  
Why not cash in on his celebrity status and lover-boy expertise? Sure,  
why not?

***

"The word's out on the street that your client's a phony baloney. A fake.  
A hotdog. A lollapaloser. They say Megaversal doctored the video feed  
to make him look good."

"That's a damn lie! Look, call up Gordon Samuels at Megaversal and  
_he'll_ tell you if Greg is for real."

"I already did, Evvie. Gordie didn't return the call, which is rather  
strange, considering how far back the two of us go."

"Well then, at least give my guy the benefit of the doubt. Let him have  
a shot at the leading role, the lover boy character. I mean, what do you  
stand to lose? All those tens of millions of people saw Greg do a virtuoso  
job on the woman, and now he has prima brand name recognition. So, even  
if, heaven forbid, he falls flat on his face, the odds are that you'll  
still make back the upfront money on the package."

"Well, maybe. We could always market it as a comedy if he fucks up. But,  
I'll tell you this: if he's not the real thing he'll never work in this  
town again. And for that matter, neither will you, Evelyn."

***

"Look me in the eye, Greggy boy. I'm well aware that you screwed up in the  
Box, even if I don't know the exact details. Look, don't you _dare_  
lie to me, fellow! I'm your agent, remember?"

"Oh, man, Evvie. What am I gonna do? Here I am with a chance to star in  
a major production and make a few hundred thou to pay off some loans,  
and maybe even put a down payment on a house for my widowed mother. And,  
here you are seeing right through me, as if I was made of glass. You're  
looking at a guy who couldn't get it up, even with a naked and willing  
woman right next to him. What the hell am I gonna do?"

"What you'll do is shut up and listen. This thing is important to both  
of us. As it happens, it's even more important to me than to you. I'm  
a has-been as an agent, nothing but a washed-up old broad who blew the  
last of her retirement fund on the horses. We're both in dire straits,  
kiddo, and, guess what? You _will_ succeed at this even if I  
have to hit you over the head with a two-by-four. Even if I have to  
_personally_ show you how to make love to a woman."

"You really _must_ be desperate, Ev. But, you know, for a washed-up  
old broad you're not all that bad looking. You serious about teaching me?"

"Considering that you're a pimply teenager and possibly the world's  
geekiest geek, you're not all that bad looking yourself, Greg, dear.  
Come here. I'm going to show you how a man kisses a woman when he wants  
to show her he's serious. . . . Hmm, not bad, for a first effort. But,  
part your lips when I want to stick my tongue in. Now, drop your pants  
so I can check out your equipment."

. . .

Greg couldn't believe it. He had made love to a woman. Fucked her,  
actually. Or, maybe it had been the other way around. (She had been on  
top, after all.) But, what difference did it make? He had enjoyed it.  
No performance anxiety, just letting the feelings flow and the vibes  
vibrate. It was fun. It felt good! And, he couldn't wait to do it again.

"I think I love you, Ev."

"Hush, kid. That's just your glands speaking. But, you're sweet and I  
cherish the compliment."

***

Greg landed the role in the film, and he did just fine. The female  
lead responded quite nicely to his on-screen kisses and caresses, and  
it wasn't just acting. Off the set, she did her best to seduce him,  
but he wasn't buying. He already had a love interest.

"All of a sudden, you're a hot property, honey. _Leave Me or Love Me_  
earned seventy million in the first week after release."

"And, I owe it all to you, Ev. All."

He looked up at her. He had climaxed but he was still deep inside her.  
She was straddling him and softly moaning as she slowly rocked back and  
forth on his shaft.

Hey, what more could he want from life? He had a solid-gold career and  
a solid-gold lover. So what if her hair was mostly gray? So what if her  
boobs drooped and her ass sagged? So what if her pussy wasn't as tight  
as an 18-year-old's? He had found comfort in her arms and passion in  
her embrace, and that was all that mattered.

"Evvie, I want this moment to last forever. Would you marry me?"

"Hon, I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
